


a rarity of my genuine smile

by codesandhearts



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, fic alternatively called: peter is so in love with mj it's ridiculous, mentions of infinity war, michelle is mj watson marvel can pry this from my cold dead hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:51:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codesandhearts/pseuds/codesandhearts
Summary: I love you, I love you, he wants to say, to which he knows she’ll just say,how lame.In which Peter falls in love with Michelle in four parts.





	a rarity of my genuine smile

**Author's Note:**

> companion piece to [leave me room for my imperfections](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11787972) but not necessary to read it! just kno that michelle was a foster kid and acts as a big sis to miles at a local community center yall
> 
> also!! Z's new hair was the entire basis of 2. cos dat girl looks bomb rn

 

1.

Michelle and Liz talk _all the time_.

Neither of them think it’s awkward now that Michelle’s dating him when he was also Liz’s date to Homecoming (well, kind of) so they just think he’s weird for thinking it’s weird. They’re friends, proper friends, like the way he and Ned are; how they finish each other’s sentences and have no concept of personal space when asking questions others might blush over. Liz is an important person in Michelle’s life and he never thought of Liz as someone he could be _friends_ with.

She was too cool, unattainable, someone to gaze at through stained glass windows with a longing sigh.

So, after clearing up Saturday lunch at Michelle’s place, he walks into her room to hear her talking to Liz over Skype and he doesn’t know what to do. Michelle is lying on her stomach on her bed, curly hair almost covering her frowning face. There’s a smooth rock song playing in the background and Peter’s thrown by how normal this sight is now.

“You’re being dumb,” Liz is saying.

“ _You’re_ being dumb,” Michelle repeats.

“Hmm, you only do that when you know I’m right,” Liz says. “Peter, tell her she’s being stupid.”

Liz must’ve seen him come into the room. “Uh,” he says awkwardly. “But Michelle’s the smartest person I know.”

“Cute.”

“What’s this about?” Peter sits next to her on the bed, keeping a hand on her back. Liz looks happier now, even through the pixelated screen her smile is bright.

Michelle yells out a shrill, “Elizabeth!” the same time Liz says coolly, “Drama club.”

“What about drama club?” Midtown’s drama club is small because, Peter’s heard from teachers, not a lot of science and tech nerds have much stage presence. Their school productions are made of bad lighting and weirdly-choreographed dances but they do it with enthusiasm, like, _hey fuck it we’re the only theatre nerds in Midtown so we’re gonna own it _.__  

“I told her the beginning of sophomore year that she should expand her extracurriculars so she signed up for drama club, which she loves,” Liz says, “but now they’re putting on a production for Romeo and Juliet and she refuses to audition even though she’d kill it.”

Michelle rolls over so she’s on her back, groaning. “They should’ve done The Color Purple like I suggested.”

“Not the point, Michelle.”

Peter looks at her now and pushes the hair away from her face. “How come I don’t know about this? You’re not exactly the type to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not embarrassed.”

“You are,” both Peter and Liz say at the same time and, man, does he feel bonded to her now in a way he hadn’t before.

“Okay, first of all,” Michelle says, sitting up, “Romeo and Juliet is an antiquated romance that ends in the suicide of two people who have barely spent any time together before committing to each other and Juliet was like the first manic pixie dream girl. And secondly, I’ve never acted in front of anyone before.”

“Untrue. You act like Peter’s jokes are funny all the time.”

“Hey!” His jokes are getting better. “Weren’t you just saying yesterday that the entertainment industry was an important to speak up and call for the representation of diverse voices?” He’s pretty sure he’s quoting her word-for-word, which he hopes isn’t creepy. He just likes hearing her talk.

Liz gives an impressed hum. “He’s good,” she says. “Also, I’m sure you can control the story if you’re actually part of it. Give Midtown a biracial Juliet, Michelle.”

Michelle lands back down on her bed. “Ugh, you guys are the worst.”

 

A few weeks later, there are colourful posters around school for Romeo and Juliet, with Michelle Jones starring as Juliet. He snaps a quick picture and sends it to Liz with a winky face and accidental eggplant emoji.

Liz: our girl <33

 

Ned, May and Peter get front row seats on opening night, along with Michelle’s parents and sister. When the curtains roll up, Peter’s heart grows. It’s evident that Michelle took control of her part, makes Juliet less like a helpless waif and more like a girl who wants love, a girl who protects her heart and family. She doesn’t wear heavy make-up, or smooth, flowing dresses like the Juliets that may have come before her.

Everything about what she has on screams the fact that this girl was written by Michelle Jones but, somehow, it isn’t Michelle. This girl is soft, so in love to the point of desperation; tears flowing as she is on her knees.

Every mannerism is different, every piece of her body language fits more with a medieval princess than it does his girlfriend. He’s in awe.

It’s only when the cast takes their bows that she becomes Michelle again; that introverted smile, the stronger eyes. She winks at him from the stage and he’s in love.

 

2.

Sometimes, after late night patrols, he crashes at her place or Ned’s. Not that he hates being home or anything but May has now gotten into the mood of bringing her girlfriend to the apartment and Peter _does not_  want to be there for that. Besides, it’s been a good while since May dated, she doesn’t need a buffer in the form of her adolescent nephew coming out of his room for leftovers after coming back from being a masked vigilante.

Michelle leaves her window unlocked most nights for him. It’s good because he doesn’t need to jimmy open the lock every time but he still worries for her safety. This is New York, after all. It’s eleven o’clock at night and Peter knows Michelle well enough to know that she doesn’t really sleep before midnight. She’s usually up reading until her eyes are bleary. Her newest book is a reread of The Disreputable History of Frankie Landau Banks.

When he climbs through the window, she’s sitting on her bed, legs crossed, in front of what looks like the contents of an entire drugstore makeup section.

“Uh, what’s happening here?” Peter asks, taking off his mask.

“Examining how I express my femininity through beauty. C’mere.” she pulls him in, kisses him, _hello, I’m glad you’re safe_.

Peter sits on the floor, so as to not mess with her mess. “But I think you’re already beautiful.”

“Gross,” Michelle says but her eyes smile. “I just feel like a change. And you’re going to help.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter says.

He stands up, takes off his suit, leaving him bare except for his boxers. He catches Michelle looking before he puts on an oversized sweater of hers and, Jesus, that look. He’d die for that look.

But Michelle wants to take it slow. He loves her so they’re taking it slow, even though he feels faint just from thinking about her in _that way_. Her collarbone is showing through her slouchy tee and he wants to _die_.

Not a lot of guys at school thinks Michelle is attractive, which, you know, too bad for them. Words like ‘too weird’ or ‘slightly intimidating’ get thrown around a lot but he sees her -those lashes, those lips, the way she sometimes bites his lips when they’re kissing which makes him crazy, the smooth skin of her legs when her shorts ride up, _fuck_ , he’s so lucky.

She shoves a packet of hair dye at him.

“You sure?” he feels obliged to ask.

“Yes, Parker.” she narrows her eyes. “Are you okay with it?”

“You are your own woman and have the right to change anything about your body.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, the legendary feminist Peter Parker.” Michelle kisses him.

“Besides,” he is slow to say, “I’d think you were pretty even if you had no hair at all.”

“Bold choice. Maybe next time.”

It takes a few YouTube tutorials because Peter has no idea how to dye any kind of hair, let alone Michelle’s natural curls, but he gets the hang of it. They watch episodes of Brooklyn 99 and Peter revels in the feel of Michelle’s hair, and her trust in him, for the rest of the night.

 

He was too tired by the time Michelle’s hair was ready to wash so he fell asleep, until she woke him up early to shoo him off to get ready at his own place. So he has no idea what Michelle looks like, or if she even liked it.

Ned catches him yawning before first period. “Peter, you need sleep,” he says. “We’re still hanging out after school, right?”

“Oh, yeah, Spidey’s having an off day unless there’s a national emergency.”

It was Ned’s idea, to introduce an off day. It was probably best. Peter doesn’t like thinking about Ned watching him slowly kill himself to save their city. Besides, with Michelle now in the mix, they hardly have time together, just the two of them.

“Dude, dude, _dude_ ,” Ned says, eyes open.

“What?”

Ned lifts his chin, pointing behind Peter.

Michelle.

With red hair.

Wearing shorts.

Peter honestly feels like he blacked out for a good ten seconds.

Her curls are full and heavy against her face, which is, even after raiding the drugstore last night, still bare save for some lip gloss. She catches his eye and comes towards him. Her smile seems brighter somehow. Her happiness, framed by this new vibrant red hair, is _doing things_  to him.

He’s just grateful he’s wearing loose sweatpants.

“MJ, you look…” Peter starts.

“Dope,” Ned finishes.

“Thanks, Leeds. Peter?” she asks.

He doesn’t speak - _can’t_  speak.

“Yo, someone give Parker a resuscitation, I think he’s dead!” he hears Flash yell out and, man, Flash is pretty accurate this time.  

“Pretty,” is all Peter manages, which isn’t even _close_ to the truth.

“Thanks, loser.”

Michelle comes closer and Peter instinctively backs up, until he hits his locker. She smells so good. His lips part for her before she even kisses him. It’s short, sweet, barely a peck, but he feels it in his bones. He can fight supervillains and stop criminals on a daily basis but Michelle Jones is still the scariest and best thing about his life.

He loves her, even if she doesn’t know it yet. He’d love her like this, or dressed down at midnight with nothing more than his sweatpants and a loose tee; he’d love her in whatever way, shape or form she’ll allow him to have her.

“Guys,” Ned says, “Please stop.”

 

3.

Miles is telling them about this girl he has a crush on.

Michelle is skeptical, not because she thinks he’s too young to even have crushes but because -“She’s a Jersey girl?”

“She’s _so cool_ , MJ,” he moans. It’s cute. “She likes the same comic books and plays the same games.”

“You’ve met her once, little dude,” Michelle says.

It’s a normal Saturday afternoon and Peter knows Michelle’s routine -stop by the community center for a few hours to spend some time with Miles while his mom is working the weekend shift, and then family lunch which now, inexplicably, includes Peter and Ned. Ned’s been busy for the past few weeks, having Betty Brant as a girlfriend, which is awesome for Ned.

This isn’t the first time Peter’s met Miles but he still has this uncontrollable _need_ to impress him.

Not to say that he doesn’t want to impress Michelle’s parents or sister but Michelle’s told him multiple times that her mom thinks he’s cool because of the hours spent bonding over Star Wars and her dad and sister are just happy to have someone else to cook before because they think he’s too skinny.

(“But I’m Spiderman, Michelle!”

“Then Spiderman is a skinny white boy with a cute ass. Just accept the meatloaf and stop complaining.”)

It’s different with Miles. Michelle chose him -chose to keep coming back for him. He’s her chosen family, like the way Peter and Ned are. But kids are hard. One wrong move and they’re scarred for life. Besides, Peter’s still a kid himself -only four years older than Miles.

“Once was enough,” Miles is saying. “I’m gonna marry her.”

Michelle looks close to bursting out laughing “Okay, kid, what’s the name of this girl?”

“Kamala Khan.”

“Well, you’ve got the alliteration thing down. MM and KK. That’s cute.” Michelle looks at Peter now. “Who was your first crush, Parker?”

At that moment, before Peter’s about to tell her about this kid called CJ, a boy he hasn’t really seen since middle school, the power in the center goes off.

“Ugh,” Michelle and Miles say simultaneously.

“Does this always happen?” Peter asks.

“Too often,” Michelle says. “The center’s seen better days. But not in a long while. The roof is almost caving in and, a few days ago, a ceiling light fell to the floor.”

“Someone should do something about it,” Miles grumbles.

“Actually…” Michelle says.

It happens so fast that Peter and Miles feel like they shut their eyes for a second and, when they open them, Michelle has already organized a fundraiser, intimidated local bands to performing a charity concert for the community center and gotten electrical contractors to fix up the center with a discount.

Let it not be said that Michelle Jones does _anything_  half-assed.

During the last Pride march, Michelle personally socked a transphobe for verbally insulting someone in front of her.

Last week, one of Flash’s friends slapped Cindy’s ass in front of her and Michelle gave him a verbal taking-to that scared him and everyone else in the vicinity.

She does this all the time. She might seem cold and cynical, emotionally distant but she cares. So much. To the point that it inspires him, to get up in the morning after a horrible night, to keep wearing that suit.

Miles and Peter are standing in the refurbished center not even three weeks later, in shock. The walls are newly painted, there’s a brand new living area with some books and bookshelves donated by the school’s PTA, and there Michelle is, in the middle of the storm.

Peter sighs. “I love your big sister, Miles.”

“I know. It’s gross,” he says. “But you’re cool so I guess it’s okay.”

“You think I’m cool?” Peter asks.

“Sometimes.” Miles shrugs. “As long as you promise not be embarrassing in front of Kamala next week.”

Peter pulls him in so Miles’ side is against his. Miles leans into it. “No promises.”

 

4.

While he was gone fighting the war, May told him that there was always someone in his room. The first few nights were hard, May barely slept; she walked around at two in the morning making pizzas that would go largely uneaten. and when she did sleep, it was in Peter’s bed, a bed she’d always make in the morning, just in case Peter was coming home that day.

Then Ned came, bleary-eyed and unbalanced, who took Peter’s bottom bunk silently and helped May around the house while she was working. Michelle took the longest to come around, when May thought that she’d be the first one, but, when she did, she’d drawn up battle plans that Peter would never see and looked at maps to figure out where he went. She’d be tired, after a day of doing shelter work, of providing temporary housing for the New York victims of the war.

Ned took the top bunk and Michelle would take the bottom; May would fall asleep on the couch outside, listening to their breathing and hushed conversations.

Peter’s learned it takes a while to break habits. Ned still sometimes takes the top bunk, even now that he’s back and the war is over, and, some nights when he sleeps, it’s next to Michelle on his childhood bed sheets.

Tonight, it’s just the two of them in Peter’s bed. Queens is quiet, dimly lit, and he wakes up to the sound of Michelle’s muffled tears at three in the morning.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He just wraps his arms around her, feeling her body melt against him.

Michelle has always been, to him, infallible. A tall castle, steady, unmovable. But she has bad days, too. Somehow, he thinks that makes her stronger.

“Michelle,” her name is soft in his mouth, always has been.

“Did I ever tell you the name I was born with?” she asks.

“No.” He never asks about her past; the one lined with darkness. He’s too scared to; as if the demons from her past are real, physical things and he’ll wants to hit them until they don’t exist.

“Mary Jane,” she says. “MJ.”

He stays quiet.

“I used to hate it,. _Em-Jay _.__ But, even when I got a new family, a new name, it followed me. So I decided to own it. So I decided, the only people worthy enough to call me that would be the people I really loved. So it would be __my__  name, so it’d be something I was proud of.”

 _My friends call me MJ_.

He remembers when he first called her MJ. The day after he said no to Tony, he found her in an empty classroom, running Decathlon drills on herself. Liz was gone, Ned was doing something else, and May didn’t need him home right at that moment. So he came towards her and said, “Can I help, MJ?”

Michelle raised her eyebrow. “Only if you can name the last Queen of Hawaii.”

“Liliʻuokalani.”

“Have a seat, Parker.”

They spent an hour in that classroom, just the two of them. He found out that she only drank tea, never coffee; that she likes to lean forward and scrunch up her face when she’s really thinking; that her eyes, in the right light, look golden.

“I’m so used to rebuilding things,” Michelle says now. “My life, the center, those shelters. I always tell myself, I have to, I have to. But, when you were gone, when Ned, May and I thought we had to rebuild a life without you in it, that was the first time I thought, no.”

Michelle turns to face him. Her hair is still red, months after they first dyed it. She likes it, told him it makes her look like she’s on fire.

“You make me soft, Parker,” she says. She trails her fingers along his lips.

_You make me strong._

_You make me look up at the stars and thank them. Thank them for burning up and collapsing so they could make you._

She kisses him, slow, languid.

This is it. This is when he’ll finally tell her.

Her kisses grow deeper, desperate. Her hands come up to his face. He can taste the salt of her tears and he’s pretty sure she can taste his.

He loves her, he loves her, he lo-

“I love you,” she breathes out. 

**Author's Note:**

> long live miles and kamala tbh


End file.
